


Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck

by MsScratch1313



Series: vampire!AU fics [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fellas is it gay, M/M, Mental Instability, Vampires, not stated in the fic but it's vampirism lads, to break your bro's nose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 00:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16074848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsScratch1313/pseuds/MsScratch1313
Summary: Dean needs a fix,bad.





	Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this at like 3am because I was feeling some kinda way  
> also note high rollers ain't over! I meant to get it done when summer hit but then I got a internship and ended up working 50+ hours a week. It's back in progress though!
> 
> trigger warnings: blood, mental instability

It’s midnight in some shithole motel near San Diego and Dean just knows that this is it. 

 

_ He’s going to kill Roman Reigns. _

 

It’s not like he wants to. He’d locked himself in their roach rave of a room so as to prevent that from happening. It isn’t the solution, but the fix Dean desperately needs is currently out of reach, so for the time being, this was the best option.

 

Unfortunately, Roman didn’t take kindly to Dean’s avoidance strategy so he’s currently  _ banging on the door, demanding to be let in, and Dean is going to fucking kill him. _

 

It’s Dean’s fault, really, and that hurts him the most. He’s normally good about this, honest! He takes care of his needs; has been doing so forever. It’s been hard lately, is all. The road trips have been long, with Roman and Seth constantly at his side, not to mention their newfound fans, and it’s been too long since he’s had time alone to take care of himself.

 

It’s been so long since he’s been this desperate that it’s nearly unfamiliar. He still remembers the failsafes he created for such times, and had hurried to call his emergency dealer. Four calls later, there’s still no answer.

 

He doesn’t even like to get his fix through a dealer; normally going out and scrounging himself, finding enough to take the edge off for a while. He’d do just that if he thought he’d be in control. At this point, he’s too far gone. He can’t guarantee the safety of anyone right now, should he leave his self imposed prison. Or the safety of anyone entering.

 

_ God damn it Roman, leave it ALONE. _

 

It was so much easier in the indies. People would just eat up the blood and the pain. It was so easy to get your fix when your days were spent busting people open for the amusement of the masses. So easy to fool everyone, when all they were expecting was some sick fuck to spit at anyway. Biting down, licking it up...well it was all part of the show, wasn’t it? It was almost too much some days, a part of him wanting to finish the fight, and another wanting to revel in the stains left on the mat and the life spilling out of his opponent, all just for him.

 

He hasn’t killed in—fuck, how long has it been? He’s been good, he’s been so good. 

 

It’s been so long he can’t even remember what to do in this situation. Will biting himself help? Scratching himself? Before, he didn’t really try to fight it. And why should he? So what if he killed someone. Not like he gave a damn about anyone. But now? He cares about a handful of people, one of which is attempting to break the lock on the door right now. Roman.

 

Jesus Christ— _ Roman.  _ The man who showed him more kindness than he had ever received back when he was breathing. He didn’t deserve whatever the fuck kind of reaction he was going to get if he—oh fuck—if he succeeded in  _ shouldering his way through the fucking door. _

 

Fuck this.

 

_ Roman please go away GO AWAY— _

 

Dean scrambles into the bathroom and gets the door shut just as the rusted hinges give way, allowing Roman entry to their shared room. He puts the lock on and debates the logistics of trying to uproot the toilet to shove under the door handle to keep it from opening. Roman’s panicked shouts can be heard behind the inches of wood. Then the pounding of knuckles against the door.

 

_ Here we go again. _

 

There really wasn’t any way of stopping Roman when his family was in danger, Dean knew that much. 

 

_ You’re the one in danger this time, idiot. _

 

Roman’s frustrated yelling is going to make Dean snap at this rate, so on goes the tub to try to block out his cries. Luckily the motel had a shower & tub combo, and luckily the pipes made an ungodly noise trying to pump hot water into the ugly, off white basin. In combination with the small jet engine of a bathroom fan whirring overhead somewhere, he can’t make out the specifics of what Roman’s saying, just muffled shouting.

 

Good riddance.

 

Watching the door shake is something else, however. It actually displaces dust, like in a cartoon! A true testament to how long it’s been since this place has gotten a proper cleaning. Yeesh.

 

It also means that Roman’s about be 2-0 vs wooden doors tonight, so Dean presses himself against the other side in an attempt to stop him.

 

Which is both better and infinitely  _ worse. _ It’s buying some time but now, even with the racket he’s stirred up on this side of the door, he can hear a heart beating fast, so fast, driven by adrenaline and pain and worry….

 

God, and that  _ smell. _

 

_ Fuck. _

 

It takes every last ounce of willpower he has to stagger back from the bathroom door, falling to his knees with the effort. He tries desperately to focus on the sound of scalding water rushing into the grimy porcelain, now nearly full. Dean turns away from the door, leaning over the side of the tub. He looks into the water as if it might be his salvation.

 

There isn’t any salvation for him. Not anymore.

 

The lock snaps. 

 

Dean doesn’t bother to breath before he sticks his head below the surface.

 

He keeps his eyes closed, focusing on the sound of the water, the burn of it, the stale taste.

 

He tries to keep focus on it when warm hands grab his shoulders and raise his head again.

 

Roman’s there, at his back, wrapping around him, restraining him, anchoring him. Roman’s too kind, too good for his own good.

 

He struggles weakly, but Roman holds fast. He’s tired from fighting it. He can’t win.  _ He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t  _

 

“We can beat this,” Roman’s voice filters through the fog in his brain. “Together. Whatever it is. I’m here uce.”

 

Dean is gritting his teeth so hard he thinks they might snap off in his mouth. He’s shaking with the effort of holding still. A warmth at the back of his neck tells him Roman is leaning his forehead against him.

 

Dean instinctively breathes deep to keep from sobbing, overwhelmed in every way.

 

It’s his undoing.

 

_ Roman smells so good.  _

 

Suddenly he’s struggling again, out of his mind. Roman holds him tighter but he’s desperate.  _ He needs it. Needs it so bad. _

 

Dean leans forward and snaps his head back at an unnatural speed. There’s a muffled  _ crack,  _ followed by a cry of pain and confusion from Roman. Dean finally pushes him off, turning around to face his friend. Roman’s eyes are tearing up from the hurt Dean’s caused, but it doesn’t register at all because  _ it’s there, it’s there, it’s crawling down and curving around those beautiful lips and dripping off his chin! _

 

Dean wants to fucking  _ devour _ him.

 

He nearly blacks out, all his senses meaningless next to the pure euphoria of tasting it. 

 

_ Roman tastes sticky sweet, and it reminds Dean of candied apples, of tasting the red sugar coating on a cool fall night. It’s smooth and satisfying like chocolate, but electric in the saccharine taste of it all. It’s filling in a way it’s never been with others, just the little his tongue caught setting fire to every fiber of his being.  _

 

When he finally comes around, he’s close to biting through Roman’s lips, his tongue seeking out the taste of him. Startlingly, Roman’s  _ kissing back. _

 

“Y’fuckin thomething Dean,” Roman lisps, stopping for air. He coughs to the side, trying to clear his throat. His mouth is a mess of red. “Broke my fucking nothe for a kith?”

 

“Need it,” Dean replies, licking at Roman’s upper lip. The craving is still there, but this is hitting the spot. Taking the edge off. He feels more human. In control. “Need you.” There’s warmth blooming in his chest, and Dean knows it’s not just from the bliss of feeding. 

 

“You have me,” Roman mumbles, running a hand through Dean’s hair. He stops for a moment to cradle Dean’s face within his hands, concern evident upon his own. “Got blood on you. Sorry,” he whispers, gently wiping at the red smeared around Dean’s mouth.

 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Dean hums, closing his eyes and leaning into Roman’s touch. “Won’t be the last.”


End file.
